Inspirational Poem of the Day

Recently, life has been giving me a lot of tests. It typically occurs at work, where I’ve been encountering a lot of tough challenges with other people. I don’t know what it is! It must be something about me that just give way for people to bog me down, pester, and bully me. Maybe it’s my personality and behavior, maybe it’s my karma.. In the end, I suppose that is just the way life is. No matter how hard you try, sometimes life just knocks us down. Sometimes people don’t fully understand the situation and they judge and ridicule you. But what I say to that, is to keep going no matter what! Keep staying true to yourself and do your very best everyday. Keep walking on, head up and your face with a smile of faith and hope. I made a promise to myself that I would always do my best, always be kind to everyone and so far I am still striving toward that even when somebody attacks or makes fun of me. We all just have to be a little willing to step up and be courageous!

Here’s a poem I’ve stumbled upon this morning from The Best Loved Poems of the American People / Selected by Hazel Fellowman that surely suits what I’ve talked about today.

How Did You Die?

Did you tackle the trouble that came your way

With a resolute heart and cheerful?

Or hide your face from the light of day

With a craven soul and fearful?

Oh, a trouble’s a ton, or a trouble’s an ounce,

Or a trouble is what you make it,

And it isn’t the face that your hurt that counts,

But only how did you take it?

You are beaten to the earth? Well, well, what’s that!

Come up with a smiling face.

It’s nothing against you to fall down flat,

But to lie there– that’s disgrace.

The harder you’re thrown, why the higher you bounce;

Be proud of your blackened eye!

It isn’t the fact that you’re licked that counts;

It’s how did you fight– and why?

And though you be done to the death, what then?

If you battled the best you could;

If you played your part in the world of men,

Why, the Critic will call it good.

Death comes with a crawl, or comes with a pounce,

And whether he’s slow or spry,

It isn’t the fact that you’re dead that counts,

But only how did you die?

Edmund Vance Cooke

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